


...baby, one more time

by mochis



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drinking, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Grinding, Karaoke, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Strip Tease, drunk marriage proposal, drunk strip tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 16:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12112893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mochis/pseuds/mochis
Summary: Alfred had it planned out perfectly: fancy car, fancy dinner, fancy suit, sappy speech and perfect ring. It was a marriage proposal straight out of a cheesy rom-com.Kiku beat him to the punch by a few hours while fully intoxicated before pigging out on cheap, Chinese take-out. With some help from Britney Spears, of course.





	...baby, one more time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thestrangehistorian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestrangehistorian/gifts).



> some friends and I were talking about how a proposal would go down w/ ameripan, and [thestrangehistorian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestrangehistorian) gave me the absolute best idea for how it would go. so this is for her!! ♡♡

No one really asks  _ how  _ Alfred proposed. Even if they  _ did _ ask, he wouldn't know what to tell them because he didn't even propose. Kiku beat him to the punch by a few hours while fully intoxicated before pigging out on cheap, Chinese take-out. 

And yet, he had it planned out perfectly: the swankiest restaurant (complete with reservations and a crisp, clean suit and tie), his sleek, black Alfa Romeo in its top condition, and a velvet little box tucked into his pocket. Their table would be outside, overlooking the New York scenery on a high balcony with the moon and stars framing their picture-perfect scene. Alfred would order champagne - knowing Kiku would only have about one glass before switching to water— and wait in stomach-twisting anticipation until after they had shared a dessert before beginning a cheesy yet heart-melting speech that he had memorized. 

“Keeks,” he would have said, because he knew how much Kiku liked that nickname by the way he flushed every time Alfred used it, “I know it really isn’t my style to take you out to a snobby place like this, and I’m pretty sure you already know  _ why  _ I made reservations, ‘cause you read the mood and all that, but let me just say my piece first.” 

At this point, the man across from him would sit up straighter, blinking his eyes in surprise. His cheeks would be tinged with the faintest shade of pink, and Alfred would take one of his hands, rubbing his knuckles with his thumb. “We’ve known each other for one-hundred and sixty-four years. Even though we’ve only been  _ together _ together— like, a couple and stuff— for half of that time, I swear to God, it feels like I’ve always known you. Before I even realized I was stupid head over heels in love with you, we’ve always just sorta clicked, you know?” Kiku would laugh, nodding his head because he can  _ see  _ how nervous Alfred is, “You’ve always been the first person I go to for anything, even if it’s something dumb, like watching horror movies with me because I’m too scared to watch them on my own. 

“You’re my best friend. You’re the wisest, most patient and nicest person ever, and the best boyfriend anyone could  _ ever  _ ask for. You’re my soulmate, dude. It took me a while to actually figure that out, but when I did, I knew I wouldn’t...like, fall in love with anyone else like this ever again.” Alfred would move his eyes from their joined hands up to Kiku’s eyes, which would surely be tearing up. Kiku’s bottom lip would tremble slightly, and Alfred would smile that goofy, heartwarming smile. “You’re it for me.”

At this point, Alfred would rise from the table, reach into his pocket and take hold of the box. Kiku would notice this, and stand to say something before Alfred could— something along the lines of “Alfred, you’re not serious”, or, “I can’t believe you”— but the blonde would be on one knee by the time Kiku was out of his seat. Everyone around them would surely realize what was going on, and the sudden attention would make the asian blush furiously. Despite this, he would stay perfectly still as Alfred produced the velvet box and opened it.

It took him months to pick the perfect ring out. He was certain that every jewelry store in Manhattan hated how picky he was— but this needed to be beyond perfect. It needed to suit Kiku Honda and all of his grace just right. It needed to be subtle, because Kiku was humble. It needed to be elegant, because Kiku managed to look graceful in any situation. It needed to be artistic, because Kiku was living artwork himself. 

This ring had to remind Kiku of how loved he is every time he looked at it. So much that it would bring him to tears.  

If Alfred did his job right, Kiku would cover his mouth to keep from gasping out loud, eyes going wide. He would look from the ring back to Alfred, then to the ring again, and as Alfred uttered the phrase that Kiku was sure he would never hear from him in his lifetime, he would nod. One nod, then another and another before he moved his hands from his face to say, “Yes!” 

This was Alfred’s favorite part of the fantasy because the ring would fit his finger perfectly, and he would hear Kiku’s laughter bubbling from his throat as he swept the man off of his feet in an embrace. Everyone around them would clap and wish they congrats, and afterwards they would return to their apartment for mind-blowing, lovey-dovey sex. 

Ask Alfred, and  _ that  _ was how his proposal would have gone. 

Ask Kiku, however, and he wouldn't be able to answer without averting his eyes and blushing. The only thing that had stayed the same was the mind-blowing, lovey-dovey sex. 

The restaurant, much to Alfred’s terrible luck, had been rented out the evening just before for a wedding. It was entirely last minute and if it weren't for the bride’s crocodile tears, Alfred’s perfect evening would have been just that: perfect. 

“That restaurant didn’t seem your style, anyway,” Kiku had told him after the american had gotten the call canceling his reservation. “It surprised me when you told me you had made reservations.”

The blonde was in the middle of folding laundry in their bedroom when his phone rang and ruined the fantasy, but he had forgone the clothes to instead throw himself onto the bed in despair. When Kiku saw this, he rolled his eyes. “You aren't even a fan of french food. Didn't you say the portions of food they served were too small?”

Alfred groaned, muffled by the sheets. “You don't  _ understand!”  _ He shifted his head to look up at his boyfriend. “I was really looking forward to— to trying out their french food! And being fancy for one night. With you!” 

If Kiku noticed how odd he was speaking, he didn't comment on it. He did sit down next to him on their bed, however, to card his fingers through Alfred’s hair. “We can be fancy some other time. Wouldn't you rather have something from that diner a few blocks away? Like...” He recited his usual order perfectly, purposely lowering his voice so that it was almost sultry, “a chocolate shake with two cherries and extra whip cream?”

Despite the canceled reservation, Alfred couldn't help but smile when Kiku knew him so well. He remembered why he wanted to marry him at that moment. “I'm gonna get you to read me the entire menu like that one day. But let's go somewhere else, somewhere fun. What about that karaoke bar?” 

Kiku pursed his lips slightly in thought. “Alright. But can you—”

“Stop you after two glasses and switch you to water no matter how much you say not to.” He moved so that his head was on the man’s lap, grinning up at him. “Don't worry, babe. I’ll make sure to cut you off.” 

Alfred, however, did not cut him off. 

It’s more appropriate to say that he wasn't  _ there  _ to cut him off. By the time he had gotten back from answering a call from Matthew, Kiku had ordered another round of stronger liquor, knowing very well in his muddled and drunken mind that he shouldn't have. 

When they arrived at the karaoke bar the next evening, the neon lights bright against their skin and smell of liquor and food inviting, Alfred was determined to turn his mood around. Besides, the pink neon lights from the nearby cocktail sign illuminated Kiku’s hair and face beautifully. He looked like a dream. A dream he  _ really _ wanted to marry already. 

Kiku caught Alfred glancing at him, smiling a bit to himself as they weaved their way through the crowd towards the bar. He ordered something light to begin with, while Alfred simply asked for a beer. It wouldn’t make a difference what type of drink he got; he didn’t get drunk as quickly as Kiku did. In fact, it was quite rare to see the american drunk. It was admirable, but something that the island nation could not help but envy. 

The music was loud. Someone was singing along to Bruno Mars on the small stage towards the back of the bar, and the pair looked on in amusement from their spot at the bar. The blonde leaned down towards Kiku’s ear to speak above the music, “What would you do if I jumped up there and started belting Britney Spears for you?”

Kiku gave Alfred a look that was a mixture between “please, for the love of god, do  _ not”  _ and “I’d actually love to see you try”. He settled for the latter, replying with a smirk, “I would question our relationship.” 

The bartender handed them their drinks, and one could argue that  _ that  _ is where things started going off track— at least, in Alfred’s case. 

The first glass of Shochu that Kiku ordered wasn’t too bad. It  _ definitely _ relaxed him, though. He could practically feel the stress melting off of his shoulders, the tenseness of the day gone in a few fruity sips. He wasn’t slurring his words, he wasn’t taking his clothes off or demanding food (because for some reason, Kiku craved snacks when drunk) yet, and he intended to do so for the rest of the evening. If anything, he would only allow himself to get  _ tipsy _ . Just sober enough to still be aware of his surroundings and in control of his actions, but just drunk enough for his nerves to loosen up. 

Alfred was on his second beer and Kiku had moved onto his own bottle of beer when he felt a faint vibration in the pocket of his jeans. To his surprise, it was Matthew. 

“Matt’s calling,” His statement sounded more like a question. He glanced towards the stage. “Man, right when I was gonna get up there and embarrass you.”

Kiku smiled into his drink, elbowing the man to take his call. Shots were beginning to sound pretty good right about then, he thought.

The air was cool outside of the bar, and he could still hear the thumping bass from the building behind him. He swiped the answer button on his phone, bringing it up to his ear. “Mattie, what’s up?”

“Oh, you actually answered. I thought you would be busy spilling your heart out to Kiku over fillet mignon,” Matthew chuckled, and Alfred couldn’t help but frown. He knew he  _ should  _ have been spilling his heart over fillet mignon right about then. “I was worried when I didn’t see anything on Instagram or Snapchat about it. Did you decide not to propose, after all?”

“No, but the restaurant got rented out for some dumb wedding,” Alfred looked down at a crack in the sidewalk, scuffing the toe of his shoe against it. “And I’m not about to propose right now, when we’re at a karaoke bar. Kiku would probably think I didn’t take us seriously.”

“Al, if he knew how much you gushed about him—”

“I don’t  _ gush,  _ dude!”

“—he would know how seriously you are about him. I think you’re just over thinking it, like you  _ always  _ do.” 

Matthew had a point, and Alfred hated when he had a point. “Over thinking helps me be prepared for anything. He could break up with me at, like, any moment—”

“You big baby, he’s not gonna break up with you!” Judging by his tone, if Matthew were there next to Alfred, he would have smacked him. “Just stop thinking like that. Kiku’s probably waiting for you to propose. Or maybe  _ he’s _ gonna propose because you’re taking so long.”

Alfred hadn’t considered that. Kiku proposing would be an obvious dream come true, but it would also throw all of his own proposal plans out of the window. The fancy car, fancy tuxedos, fancy fillet mignon, fancy speech and fancy ring would all have been for naught. Kiku might just outdo his own proposal, anyways, seeing how artistic and tasteful he was. 

The american bit his lip. “I just wanna marry him already. But I wanna do it  _ my _ way.”

“Then find some other fancy restaurant and do it there. Or someplace else. Propose on the top of the empire state building since you wanna go all out!” He laughed, but a part of Alfred thought he was serious. Another part of Alfred considered climbing onto the top of the empire state building instead. “I don’t think Kiku will care. You guys are practically married already.”

Another good point. Alfred glanced towards the bar behind him. “Thanks for kicking my ass about this, Matt.”

“Kicking your ass on and off the ice rink. What would you do without me.”

As they chatted for a few more minutes about this and that, both were completely oblivious to the round of tequila shots Kiku had ordered after his bottle of beer. 

He wasn’t  _ that  _ drunk yet. He wasn’t even tipsy. Definitely not tipsy. Maybe the burn from the alcohol will stop him from getting drunk. 

Kiku-logic while intoxicated was questionable, at best. 

The last thing on his mind was Alfred’s reaction to the shots. Alfred  _ was  _ on his mind, though, but what else was new? He loved him. He loved him  _ a lot.  _ There was so much to love about Alfred F. Jones that Kiku couldn’t possibly name them all. He could try, though, because right then he felt like he could do anything if it was for Alfred. Alfred, who was outside on the phone. He mentioned something about singing— or was it dancing? No, it was definitely singing, because they were at a karaoke bar, after all. Karaoke was for singing. 

Kiku downed another glass (his third, but who was counting? Certainly not him) and looked towards the stage in the back. It was empty. 

The man frowned; what was that one song Alfred liked?

When the blonde walked back into the bar, he noticed immediately that 1) his boyfriend was missing, and 2) there were five  _ empty  _ shot glasses at their spot at the bar. Both of which led to more than one embarrassing scenario, thus Alfred wanted to find Kiku as fast as possible and get him home before he managed to get them kicked out of the bar. 

(It hasn’t happened before, but you can’t be too careful with a drunk Kiku). 

He quickly flagged down the bartender, trying to keep his voice cool. “Hey, did you see where the guy I was with went off to? And did  _ he  _ order shots?”

The bartender nodded, looking out towards the crowd, “He did, and I think I saw him go...oh, yeah, there he is. On stage.”

Nothing could have prepared him for that moment. The minute he heard “on stage”, his head whipped towards the back of the bar where, sure enough, a giggly Kiku was fumbling with the microphone on the stand. He could not have moved faster, abandoning the bar in lieu for the front row of the crowd that had begun to gather around the stage. 

“I want to— I want to dedicate this song to my— oh, he’s right there,” Kiku had managed to get the mic off of the stand and was now pointing to a wide-eyed Alfred. “Him, that’s my boyfriend, Alfred Jones.” 

“Kiku,” the blonde had walked towards the edge of the stage, “you're drunk. What happened to cutting you off after two drinks?”

“I dunno, you weren’t there, but the tequila was.” He tried to look serious, but couldn’t help laughing at the end of his answer. “It was just  _ one _ shot.”

“There were  _ five  _ shot glasses!” The music started up just then, and Alfred wanted to laugh and let the ground swallow him up all at once. The opening piano notes were all-too familiar. “Keeks. Let’s just get you home before you—”

_ “Oh baby, baby,”  _ Kiku ignored him and climbed off the stage, mic in hand as he moved closer to Alfred.  _ “How was I supposed to know that something wasn’t right, here?” _

He didn’t know what was more embarrassing: the fact that his boyfriend was actually serenading Britney Spears to him in the middle of a karaoke bar while intoxicated or the fact that Alfred didn’t have it in him to  _ stop  _ his boyfriend from serenading Britney Spears to him in the middle of a karaoke bar. When had Kiku even learned the lyrics to this song?

Alfred’s cheeks were burning up as he took backward steps towards the crowd behind him. He wasn’t sure what to  _ do  _ in this situation; was he supposed to do something with his hands, should he play along? He didn’t think he could actually play along, not when Kiku was moving his hips like that and singing with that silky voice. 

_ “My loneliness is killing me, and I must confess, I still believe,”  _ Kiku had managed to back Alfred into a chair, surprising the blonde even further when he sat on his lap to straddle him.  _ “When I’m not with you, I lose my mind! Give me a sign.... Hit me baby, one more time!”  _

The man’s face matched that of a tomato. Kiku’s cheeks weren’t as flushed, but he was sporting his signature drunken pink tinge as he jumped into the next verse passionately. The crowd around them were enjoying this  _ way  _ too much for Alfred’s comfort; he could practically feel every phone camera poised on them, broadcasting onto social media for the entire world to see. 

(He was being dramatic, but could you blame him? He was getting grinded on by the love of his life to  _...Baby One More Time.  _ It was almost a sort of fantasy he had hidden somewhere in the depths of his hormonal mind, but  _ that  _ fantasy didn’t involve being in public.

_ “Show me how you want it to be,”  _ A hand gripped the collar of his dress shirt, yanking him close. Alfred figured out that it was tequila that had gotten him this drunk. _ “Tell me, baby, ‘cause I need to know now, oh, because...” _

Then he was off of Alfred’s lap, shrugging out of his sweater before working on unbuttoning his shirt— well, as well as one could full of alcohol. And it didn’t take very long for Kiku to  _ get _ full of alcohol in the first place. He’s tiny. 

When he somehow managed to get down to the third button, Alfred knew it was time for them to leave before Kiku started strip teasing in the middle of the bar. While everyone’s Snapchat stories (and Alfred’s libido) would probably enjoy that very much, he was not about to let him embarrass himself any further. Even  _ if  _ he was serenading Alfred with his one of his favorite songs. 

_ “When I’m not with you, I lose my mind! Give me a sign _ — _ ”  _

“Kiku, we’re leaving, you’re drunk.”

“I am not.  _ Hit me baby one more time!”  _

_ “Yeah,  _ you are, you lightweight. Get off me, we’re going home,” He tried to wriggle out from underneath Kiku, but it was as if the alcohol in Kiku’s system had made him the slightest bit heavier. Or just sluggish. “Don’t make me carry you.”

“Don’t make  _ me  _ carry  _ you,” _ Kiku said, knitting his eyebrows together indignantly once the song ended. “I’ll carry you to the stage, you said you wanted to serenade me.” 

Alfred had taken the microphone from his hands, and handed it to someone in the crowd with an apologetic smile. At least Kiku wouldn’t be able to say anything embarrassing into the mic anymore.  “I’ll serenade you all you want back home. You can even pick the songs.”

The man in his lap began to protest until Alfred had him picked up off his lap with ease, grabbing his hand and sweater to keep from losing either one of them as he pushed through the crowd towards the bar. He paid the bill, left a generous tip, apologized for the giggling lightweight behind him, and  _ finally _ left the bar. 

Kiku wasn’t going to get sober any time soon. Alfred was aware of this, and was also aware of how he got when he had too much to drink (any of Kiku’s rules about personal space was thrown out the window), so he opted to walk back to their apartment complex rather than flag down a taxi. The streets were beginning to thin out as the hours went by, so it would be a quick trip, anyways. 

_ “If you’re lost, you can look, and you will find me _ —” __

Well, a quick trip with off-key karaoke.

_ “—time after time!” _

Even though Kiku completely embarrassed Alfred and himself, the man didn’t have it in him to be upset or even mildly annoyed. This was just one of the reasons why he wanted to marry this dope in the first place. 

The asian clung to Alfred’s arm, his cheek pressed against his bicep as their hands hung laced together. The blonde glanced down towards him, sighing a bit with a smile. “I thought you didn’t like music from the 80’s.”

“I don’t. But you like 80’s music, and I like you.” Kiku answered, the end of his sentence trailing off into a laugh. “That’s why I married you, silly. You’re so silly.”

Alfred almost tripped on his own shoes. He slowed their pace, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips. “Keeks, we aren’t— we aren’t married.”  _ I  _ definitely  _ would have remembered.  _

The shorter of the two knit his eyebrows together, pursing his lips in thought. He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again to take another moment to think. What he was thinking about (or trying to remember) was beyond Alfred, but he didn’t interrupt. Whatever it was, it was obviously drunk Kiku logic. Finally, Kiku looked up towards him, cocoa colored eyes warm albeit confused. “We aren’t? Why not? We live together. We act as if we’re married.”

“I mean,” Alfred swallowed thickly, “no one’s proposed yet.” 

“Oh.” He stopped walking, and pulled away from Alfred. Then, after nearly stumbling over himself, he bent down to pluck a thin daisy— practically a weed— from a patch under a nearby shop window, tying the end of the stem around the base of the daisy’s petals. He turned back to Alfred and took his left hand, managing to push the makeshift ring around his ring finger. “There.”

Kiku dropped down to one knee, still holding onto Alfred’s hand. “Will you marry me?” 

Despite how slow and stumbly his (fiancé? Boyfriend? What the hell  _ was _ Kiku to him in that moment?) drunk boy was moving, it happened too fast. He wasn't even sure what Kiku was doing when he picked up that droopy flower, and he had his back turned to him when he tied it into a ring, so he couldn't  _ see  _ what Kiku was doing to the flower. And when Alfred finally  _ did  _ realize what was happening, after watching that makeshift ring slip onto his finger and seeing Kiku get down on one knee while holding onto his hand— for balance, probably— he felt his stomach drop. 

Unlike the love of his life, he was completely sober. He knew very well what Kiku was doing and while it was an absolute dream come true to be proposed to by him, the man in question was also very,  _ very  _ drunk, and probably wouldn't even remember this in the morning. This was nothing like his plan, completely unlike his ultimate master plan to propose in the most gentlemanly way possible and woo the hell out of Kiku. 

Alfred should be angry. He had every right to be upset. Kiku beat him to the punch and did it on the sidewalk in front of some cheap Chinese take-out restaurant with a leaf ring,  _ after  _ embarrassing the two of them in a public bar. Who  _ wouldn't  _ be angry? 

... _ Alfred _ wouldn't be angry, of course. 

He couldn't. Kiku was giggly and (now demanding Chinese take-out, since they're right next to the place and he's just so  _ hungry _ after drinking, so c’mon, Alfred, let's try it out) somehow still remained to be so goddamn sincere under all the alcohol. Of course he believed him when he asked him to marry him. Of course he said—

“Y-Yes, dude, yes, I’ll marry you.” 

— and of course Kiku replied with—

“As I said earlier, I’m pretty sure we were already married and I think you just want me to propose again, but I'm not complaining. You're so pretty and handsome, I would propose to you every day if you wanted.” 

And of course Alfred laughed at that, because it had to mean that Kiku had dreamt of proposing to Alfred at  _ some  _ point, and knowing that both of them wanted to propose to each other was just too  _ cheesy _ . 

He dipped down to catch his lips, to which the smaller man welcomed with no protest as he wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck. Then Kiku pulled away, cupping Alfred’s sun-tanned cheeks, “Let’s get married tomorrow. Let's get married every— oh, your  _ freckles _ . I want to marry your freckles. And your eyes. And your nose, and your lips and your bed head in the morning and your everything.”

His heart was so full of warmth and love that he was scared it would burst or stop beating altogether. Even while drunk, Kiku Honda managed to melt Alfred’s heart with his words. It was totally, completely, and entirely unfair, but Alfred wasn’t complaining. He’d never complain ever again for the rest of his life, dammit, because they were  _ technically _ engaged and tied together with a floppy flower on a New York sidewalk. 

Screw his fancy plan. He’d take this instead.

The take-out was greasy and actually much too overpriced, but neither of them complained as they dined around midnight. And neither of them complained about the mind-blowing, lovey-dovey sex afterwards. 

Kiku was the only one complaining about his god awful hangover the next morning. No amount of painkillers or tea could ease the pounding in his head or the weariness in his bones.

“I thought you would cut me off after two drinks.” He gave a pointed look towards the blonde across the kitchen table. 

“I tried to. But I stepped out to take a call and when I walked back in, you had downed five shots of tequila.” Alfred smiled into his coffee. “By the way, when did you start listening to Britney Spears?”

“What? I haven’t heard her songs in years,” Kiku raised an eyebrow, running a hand through his jet black hair. He froze midway, eyes going wide. “Why? Did I— oh, no. I did.” He groaned, holding his face in his hands as Alfred laughed, a sound much too bright and bubbly for Kiku’s headache. “I’m sorry. I embarrassed both of us.” 

“Yup, you did. But you looked like you were having fun!” 

Kiku shot him a glare. “I was having fun giving a striptease in front of an entire bar.” 

“Yes. You were totally into it. I should call Britney up and ask her to feature you in a music video.” He stood from the table to set his empty mug in the sink, ruffling Kiku’s hair along the way. 

“You’re not funny,” he replied, muffled as he lay his head in his arms. Shifting to peek towards the blonde, he noticed the flower still tied around his finger, and felt his face flush. It was blurry, but he certainly remembered getting down on one knee and asking the question. “Alfred, you don't have to wear that flower. I know I...should have waited for a better moment to ask you.” 

Alfred leaned against the sink, glancing towards his hand with a grin. “You know,  _ I  _ was gonna ask  _ you.  _ That's why I made those fancy reservations. I figured you knew.”

“I had an idea of what you were planning.” Kiku stood to meet him at the sink, setting his own cup of tea down. “I meant everything I said last night. About thinking we were married. That’s all I really remember saying, anyway.” 

“You said you wanted to marry my freckles.” Alfred pulled him close by the waistband of his boxers (which were his own— Captain America patterned, mind you). “And you’d propose to me everyday if you could.”

The shorter man flushed, avoiding Alfred’s eyes. “Do you— Do you  _ want _ me to propose again?” There was no question that he would actually do it if he only asked, except this time he would ask the way he had originally planned and  _ not  _ while drunk. There would also be an exponentially less amount of Britney Spears.

“Of course I do. But I think  _ I _ should give it a shot this time.” 

“I’d like that.”

Needless to say, Alfred’s proposal went off without a hitch. Not that anyone asks about it, anyways. It’s not nearly as interesting as Kiku’s proposal. 


End file.
